Leifker presents...
Little Boy
A work of Rurouni Kenshin fanfiction by Nicholas Leifker.
Rurouni Kenshin created by Watsuki Nobuhiro. All rights reserved. I
ask that you not do anything with any part of this fanfic without
permission.
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The sky glows reddish-purple, as the sun waits behind the horizon to
open the day. It is absolutely clear, without clouds or other
blemishes; I can see the stars slowly fade into the glow. The summer
wind is warm, but not unusually so; I take a breath of salty sea air,
its energy giving me the strength to walk outside.
Already, the sounds of practice fill my ears, as hearty cries accompany
the strike of bamboo against bamboo. My children and grandchildren test
their skills in the morning, before handing those skills to others.
Some of our students will use their skills for honor; others have shown
less wisdom, and use the school to kill. It is a simple, almost naive
existence, teaching people such as these; however, it is the only one we
know.
My old bones move to the door of the dojo, and sit down at the edge. It
fills me with pride to know that the Myojin Kasshin Ryuu still thrives
to this day. It is a rock in a typhoon, an assurance that, no matter
how mad the world has become, the idea of conflict without murder still
survives. They are my children, my family, and I am proud of every
one. I see the idle shinai there in the containers, and wish for a
moment that the people who wield them would come home. There has been
too much death in this family - too many victims, too much crying.
We are warriors; we are not immune, no matter how much we may wish
otherwise. Wrinkles have hidden the many scars from my troubled youth.
My grandson, at the far end of the dojo, wields his shinai with one
hand; the other was left on Okinawa. His older brother, sparring
opposite, is not physically harmed, but holds scars no less real: he was
at Nanking when it was taken, and only his eyes speak of what he saw.
Considering the rumors, I almost wish he never speaks. The world has
touched us, whether we wish it or not, yet we go on.
That world, unfortunately, has gone mad. In my youth, people were
slaughtered by the dozen. We fought and died as villages, as
communities. Now, we die and kill as nations, by the millions. We
crank out heartless, mindless soldiers for our petty ambitions, send
them off to plunder other, supposedly less-deserving people, and let fat
men off in Tokyo reap the rewards while we starve. No matter which way
the battle turns, we lose; either our children are left on the field as
casualties, or our honor disappears as we act like bandits amidst
plunder.
We seek hollow valor and vengeance for imaginary wrongs - and sacrifice
honor for our greed.
The war will not last much longer, I think. The bombs dropped on Tokyo
are the sign of the end. Our sacred soil is not so sacred; we are not
deserving of this land, and we will lose it. We thought ourselves
better than the rest of the world; Germany thought the same of itself.
Germany was proven wrong, and sits a hollow shell of the glory it once
was. We are next; our pride has sent us to the edge, and the weight of
our sins will topple us over.
Did you know this would happen, Kenshin? Could you see what the new
world you created would become? The shining Meiji world you created has
darkened into something sinister... a dark Showa revolution, a place
where valor is mistaken for honor, and psychopaths stand in line where
warriors should be. We are beaten by our own vices, and soon will face
oblivion.
Much as it pains me to say, Kenshin, I long for it, now. Japan has
dishonored itself far beyond repair, and I do not want to see this
once-honorable land fall. You learned the lesson and lived to tell the
tale; I did as well, and bear the scars from such wisdom. Our heirs, I
fear, will not be so lucky. It is for them I fear, and the land they
inherit from us.
The roar of a propeller high overhead grabs my attention; I have learned
to be concerned for such things, as we no longer own the clouds above
us. The sight is hidden from me; they attack with the rising sun,
taking our pride and twisting it back on ourselves.
It is the end; I know it with a strange certainty. I look to my family,
and know that the peace we have forged will be gone forever. I pray
they survive, that one, at least, survives to tell the tale - as I
survive from struggles long done.
Tsubame, I'm coming home. Kenshin, brother, Kaoru, sister, take care to
see my self and my family safe, wherever we are destined to go. This is
the end; this is the atonement.
A tear rolls down my withered cheek as sunrise comes.
*********************************
I would normally tell where this came from; however, the explanation
would be as long as the work. Thanks to Andrew Norris and Kevin Hammel
for their comments.
Nicholas Leifker
nightelf@thekeep.org
http://www.thekeep.org/~nightelf/fanfic
October 31, 1999